Page 55 of The Meaning Of You

“This laptop is Davis’s original,” Nick explained, “but I emailed a lot of what I found in the new one to both our emails. We can start there and work our way through the box.”

I watched him closely. “And you’re okay with me looking through his stuff like this?”

Nick shrugged and turned back to the laptop’s screen. “I’m not precious about any of it, not really. I just can’t seem to actually throw it out. It seems too final, somehow.” He typed in a password seemingly oblivious to the fact our thighs were back touching and that I was blatantly ogling him. Then the home screen opened and he leaned forward. “I sent most of—” He stopped mid-sentence and turned to face me. “What?”

I blinked and quickly switched my attention to the screen. “Nothing. Sorry. Go ahead.”

He hesitated, then turned back to the laptop. “I forwarded most of what I found to my personal email but copied one of Davis’s as well. This thread is the exchange between Lachlanand Davis that I was telling you about. Take a look.” He angled the screen so I could see and we both leaned forward, shoulders brushing.

I read the thread and my heart sank. It was pretty damning. But it wasn’t conclusive. I turned to Nick. “You said he had a desk calendar with dates circled when he stayed at the caravan?”

Nick opened his hands. “It was taken with the rest. Everything from the caravan was in that box.” He hesitated. “Except—” He dug around in his jean’s pocket then slapped a driver’s licence and passport on the table. “—these. But the calendar was pretty clear. Davis was at the caravan three or four days every week for six weeks, and I had no idea. He was lying to me, Madigan. By omission if nothing else. He always told me when he was heading down this way.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “But you don’t know exactlywhathe was doing. You’re just assuming the worst. You said he was very tight-lipped when he was planning a new book.”

Nick shook his head. “Only about the plot itself, not about where he was working or who he was talking to. I knew my husband, Madigan.”

He had me there, although I was tempted to point out that he apparently didn’t know Davis as well as he’d thought. Instead, I said, “Fair enough, and I admit the emails don’t look good, but they’re still not definitive. What else did you find? Tell me everything.”

And so he did, going into detail about the desk calendar and the question of whether the L.K. was this Lachlan from the emails. He talked about finding the research folder with Davis’s passport and driver’s licence and surprisingly little else for almost two months’ work. The screensaver photo. The passwords. The laptop account. The missing phone. Davis not consulting Nick about the money laundering aspect of his newbook. He even told me about the half-empty bottle of lube, something I could’ve well done without.

When he was done, Nick fell back on the sofa with a heavy sigh. “Nowtry and convince me Davis wasn’t having an affair.”

I didn’t answer because I didn’t know what to think. If it wasn’t for the fact that the so-called evidence flew in the face of everything Nick had believed about Davis, I might’ve been convinced as well.

“Let me see those emails again.” I pulled the laptop onto my knees and went through the exchanges for the third time. When I was done, I tapped the screen with my finger. “These last few don’t sound like Lachlan was pissed off about being ghosted. They sound like he was scared.”

“Scared?” Nick slid the laptop from my knees onto his. When he finished reading, he closed the lid and tossed it on the sofa. “I don’t see it. Maybe he was simply scared of losing Davis. Maybe he was... in love with Davis.” His voice broke on the word and pain sliced through those beautiful grey eyes. “Maybe they were in love... with each other?”

“Stop it.” I turned sideways on the sofa, resting my elbow on the back and putting a little more distance between us. “You need to take a breath and look at this objectively. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Nick shuffled sideways as well and threw open his hands. “No? What the fuck am I supposed to think? It seems pretty clear to me. My husband was having an affair and I never suspected a thing. I believed every bit of the bullshit that came out of his mouth about loyalty and faithfulness being so fucking important to him. Our promise that we’d always talk to the other first if we ever felt tempted. That we’d try to work things out before we acted on anything. And I believed it, Madigan. I fucking believed it. What kind of idiot does that make me?”

I raised my brows and tilted my head. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

He fell silent, glaring long enough to make me wonder if I’d made a mistake in trying to lighten things. Then he snorted and lobbed a carrot stick my direction. “Fuck you, Madigan.”

I caught the carrot and took a bite. “You make it too easy.”

He chuckled. “You’d make a terrible therapist, just so you know.” He reached for another cookie and wafted it under my nose in an exaggerated fashion before taking a bite.

I eyeballed him, unimpressed. “Your telomeres are shrinking as we speak.”

He frowned. “My what?”

I sighed. “The proteins on the end of your chromosomes that protect you against the effects of ageing. Every time a cell divides, the telomeres get shorter and shorter until poof, they’re gone and the cell dies. And voila—” I tapped the lines at the corners of my eyes. “—wrinkles and shit. Fruit and veg help lengthen them.”

Nick snorted. “Are you for real? What about the whole I-don’t-care-what-people-think bullshit?”

Heat crawled up my neck. “I think we already established that I was lying through my teeth about that. No one wants to be seen as shallow, right? Besides, I’m only pointing out the benefits of eating well if you want to slow the process.”

He grinned. “So, you’re saying I look old?”

“I—no,” I flustered. “That’s not what I meant. You’re the one who said there’s nothing wrong about caring how you look, and if you want to keep your good looks, you need to eat healthy.”

A sly smile slid over his face. “So, you’re saying I’m good-looking?”

I scowled. “Stop twisting my words.”

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